


Book Smarts, Sheet Smarts

by MajorWinchesterFan, stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, allusion to conversion therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorWinchesterFan/pseuds/MajorWinchesterFan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: To the annoyance of a certain Corporal, some things cannot be learned from books.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Book Smarts, Sheet Smarts

Some days, Maxwell Q. Klinger didn’t know what gender he wanted to be, but since the arrival of their newest surgeon he knew one thing: he wanted to be good in bed… for Charles. 

With this newfound wish had come a new level of aural sensitivity. Max was used to the Swamp Rats teasing the nurses and cracking jokes about sex, but now he kept an ear out for tips. He didn’t get all the wordplay (he wasn’t half as educated as the doctors) but he had a general idea about some things… and the sense that, on someone as big and tall as the Major, they’d be really, really fun to try. 

But he didn’t want to disappoint the man he was head over his prettiest heels for… which meant he needed more information. When he heard BJ and Hawkeye chortling over a text called  _ Human Sexuality _ , he thought he’d found his in. 

Slipping into the Swamp while its residents were carousing (Pierce and Hunnicutt) and on rounds (Winchester) was easy. Mastering a medical textbook was less so. The glossary took him right to the things he was interested in, but the plastic fold over diagrams didn’t help to untangle or clarify his thoughts. What he knew about sex amounted to a few fumbled touches, some movie screen innuendo, and a stolen glance or two of Captain Pierce’s magazines. What Charles must know… it intimidated him, unnerved him. Even if he could get into those strong arms, he’d probably mess it all up in minutes. 

This stupid book wasn’t helping. Or maybe  _ he _ was stupid (plenty of people had said as much). He was so intent on finding an answer - or, at least, something to go on - Maxwell did not notice the object of his affection watching him through the mesh with a bemused but not ungentle look.

Charles thought of sweeping in and asked Maxwell if he required some piece of medical knowledge, but the little Corporal’s face was too filled with emotions. No, this was a mystery to be parsed - and if Maxwell had found someone who wished to observe those oldest rites with him - well Charles couldn’t fault the mystery lover’s taste… and he wished Max both comfort and happiness. If his mouth suddenly tasted of marigolds - his mind’s cue for loss and bitter jealousy - well, he lived with a still, didn’t he? Clear juniper currents ought to be enough to drown that pesky autumn orange taste… and if he dreamnt of Max in another’s arms, well, he really shouldn’t be thinking about the man that closely anyway. 

***

When stolen glances didn’t help, Klinger went with the skills he trusted: his ability to scheme. A few calls secured him his own copy of the book - in the margins of which he carefully wrote the questions weighing on his mind. Some secret part of him hoped the book might act like a ouija board; he would write and when he returned, his eyes would be drawn to the answers that would make him into someone that Winchester could desire. Someone talented and confident. 

The Corporal sighed. It wasn’t working. 

He now knew what an erogenous zone was - for whatever that was worth (though he didn’t know how to pronounce it) - but he still wasn’t sure how to kiss and breathe at the same time - the good, deep kind of kissing, anyway. He’d overheard enough from the nurses who borrowed his clothes to know about some of the things they said made their dates crazy… but he didn’t know how to  _ do  _ them. And his hands were rough… was that the kind of thing a fancy guy like the Major could hold against him? Outright, complete rejection Klinger thought he could take. Rejection  _ in the man’s arms _ because he just didn’t measure up somehow? He’d never get over it. 

Lying on his stomach, he glared at a chapter on “deviant sexual behavior.” Even books gave him grief over his choices. He didn’t know it, but this was the second time Winchester saw him reading (and clearly struggling with something). 

_ Poor, silly pet,  _ thought the watching physician who decided at the last minute not to knock. Winchester was an avid reader who loved to learn, but he knew that there were some topics where traditional learning simply failed. 

***

It was late and the air in the Swamp was practically vaporous with gin. Klinger figured it was as safe a time to ask for help as any; no one was going to remember his questions in the morning and, by his watch, Charles still had two hours left in post op. 

Fighting a blush, he asked the camp’s veteran beguiler for help. “Please, Captain? You gotta teach me those sex things you were talking about the other day.”

Hawk’s boozy gaze sharpened, giving credit to his nickname. “Gee, Klinger, you sure make things easy. My bunk or yours?”

BJ was staring; surely this was a lark. Hawk had pulled some mad schemes, but Klinger wasn’t much older than Radar! 

“No! I mean, not to step on your toes, sir, but I don’t want you to show me - I want you to tell me. You know, sexy secret doctor stuff.”

“Ah.” Smiling (with at least some measure of relief, BJ hoped), Hawkeye shook a finger at the questioning Corporal. “You have someone in mind you want to try all my tricks out on. Who is it?”

Max shook his head. “No way.”

“No name, no secrets.” 

BJ was about to inform the young Corporal that there were no secrets; doctors had to come by their knowledge of “sexy secret stuff” the same as everyone else - experimentation and experience, with a healthy dose of conversation to convey what they liked and what best pleased their partner(s). But a name slipped from his painted lips like a coin dropped into a wishing well. 

“Charles.”

Neither of the two Captains had ever heard Klinger say the surgeon’s name; he made it shine with a sort of gentle magic that, had they been sober, they would have recognized as love. 

Hawkeye spat out his martini, a cackle rising right behind it that left him practically howling at the moon. Trying to be gentler about the whole (in his opinion screwed from the start) situation, Hunnicutt hid his face in his hands and  _ shook _ . And he couldn’t help thinking that if Winchester saw - if he  _ knew _ \- he would probably kill all three of them to keep his good name unsullied.  _ Klinger _ , he thought, feeling genuinely sorry for the kid, _ weren’t the dresses a hard enough sell!? You’d have better luck seducing Truman!!  _

Having refilled his amusement-aching lungs enough to speak, Hawk searched the eyes of their answer-seeking visitor and found only sincerity - and a little fear. Whatever this was, it was genuine. “Say again, Klinger? Charles!? Our Charles!?” He held his hand to an approximate height. “Say this tall? Shiny forehead? Harvard degree?” 

Klinger visibly shrank. “You’re gonna tell me I’m being stupid, huh? Stupider than trying for West Point, even.” He sighed. “Thanks, anyway, sirs.” 

BJ stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a warning look for Hawk who still had a store of hyena laughter untapped beneath his breastbone. “Hold on, Klinger. Nobody in here thinks you’re stupid.” 

Even drunk, Hawkeye knew and could read BJ; he could have done so exhausted, frightened - even  _ blind _ . He gave his friend a nod that was so quick Klinger never saw it, but which ought to earn him the blessing of snuggling into Beej’s side for the night. “Nobody does,” he echoed. “Never thought I’d have reason to feel jealous of  _ Charles  _ though…”

Klinger smiled at the praise; he knew Pierce’s flirtations were compulsory rather than sincere, but they were all he had, and his confidence needed the strengthening injection. 

“No need, sir. I doubt I can even talk him into holding my hand… and that’s about as much as I know how ta do, anyway.” 

It all came out then: Klinger’s belief (and they really couldn’t dissuade him) that doctors, knowing bodies better than the average person, must also know  _ sex  _ better, that Charles, who seemed to know bloody everything, probably knew best of all… and that Max feared that nothing he knew or was or could offer was ever going to be enough. 

Neither Hunnicutt nor Pierce knew how to bridge the gulf between Boston gentry and Toledo blue collar, but they didn’t see any harm in explaining the difference between human sexuality as a course that dealt with anatomy and reproduction - and what usually (though Hawk strained the boundaries a little) went on in bed between two enamored parties. 

Max left that night with a clearer knowledge of what he might do if (as Hawk had put it) a wizard popped out of the woodwork and enchanted Winchester right into his bed - and it gave him some fun things to imagine as he tried to drift off to sleep. He didn’t notice his book (the doctors had given him some pointers about where to look for a couple of things) was missing until the next day. 

***

In searching for his missing property, Max was more methodical than frantic (this wasn’t Major Houlihan’s ring after all - hadn’t that been hell on wheels!?). His wardrobe had been known to swallow up bigger things than a book, so he pushed aside puddles of silk and rolls of muslin, rummaged under his cot and in his winter gear. No book. 

If Radar had still been in camp, Klinger might have imagined  _ he’d _ borrowed it (he had an impressive Nat Geo collection), but it was just gone. If it turned up in anybody’s hands, Max just hoped they didn’t recognize his writing… he’d basically been using the textbook as a repository for thoughts and questions about the beautiful man he longed to lay down beside (though Captain Pierce had suggested that over top or underneath were just as good); if Charles found out, he’d probably have him crated and shipped to one of his European estates to be hunted with those little birds Klinger could never remember the name of… (Which, come to think of it, might still be safer than Korea. How often did rich people hunt, anyway?) 

He’d given up hope of seeing the not-so-revelatory volume again when it made its way home… borne in the (large and oft-admired) hands of Major Charles Emerson Winchester. 

If printed in the papers of the day, Klinger’s internal monologue at that moment would have included a host of lightning bolts and skulls and crossbones, a few wickedly curved daggers and enough exclamation points that they could have been bound together like a sheaf of wheat. 

Charles just smirked and restored the volume, pointing to his own annotations - in blue to Klinger’s black. “The bounds of your mind are as wide as the hoop skirts you wore for that reporter, my dear.” 

Max was too unnerved to tell if this was a compliment, an insult, or just Charles kicking off one of their usual bantering sessions. Maybe the Major hadn’t realized the notes were about him and just wanted to tease him? It would hurt, but Max thought he could stand it. And, hell, if he’d written back, maybe he really would learn something at last. But he couldn’t read  _ now _ \- not with Charles watching him in a way he could not place, not when just being around the other man made him ache. 

Seeing his fear - the little Corporal was as still as a broken-winged bird under a cobra’s unfeeling gaze - Charles took pity and touched his shoulder. “My dear girl, if you were searching for medical knowledge, you might have come to me. I am the resident expert on such matters.” 

Given that the matter in question was his own pleasure, this wasn’t even ego. 

What Charles didn’t know was the manner of thoughts such words triggered in his companion. Klinger imagined a string of rich girlfriends sighing with pleasure under that mouth, calling out for the Major in rapture, surrendering clothes he could never afford (but could, no doubt, carry off) to those long-fingered hands that, at this point, he was more likely to find wrapped around his throat than anywhere else. 

“I didn’t know how to ask, Major,” he admitted, eyes lowered. “I don’t have all the words like you do.” 

Charles had not expected shyness from Klinger of all people. Apparently the man’s more bold and brazen moments were antics. This… this was something else, something softer... truer, too. “Give me the words you do have, Maxwell,” he encouraged.  _ I promise you they shall be more than enough.  _ “What are you doing scouring medical textbooks in your off hours?” 

Maxwell Q. Klinger was many things - but not one of those things contained a single particle of dishonesty. Presented with a direct ask, he had no choice but to offer a direct answer - and pray it didn’t result in fireworks. “I wanted to learn how to have sex, sir.”

Charles held back a chuckle at the sudden image (absurd as it was) of a fish reading a book on how to swim. He’d never seen a figure better built for sexual gratification than the one before him - in skirts or out. All he said was, “Oh?” 

“I wanted to be good…” his muscles all seemed to contract, making him smaller. He dared a quick look up at the face of the man he loved, afraid of what he’d find there. “To you.” He bit his lip to try to stop more words from escaping, but the troublesome syllables were already queued on his tongue. “I know you probably think it was stupid of me. I know you know all kinds of stuff about everything and I’m just a dumb kid from Toledo…” 

His mouth seemed to be under the impression that if he kept talking they might never get to the part where Charles called him an idiot (probably with some crack about his looks or culture thrown in), broke his whole heart, and strangled him. “I just thought maybe I could do good enough that you’d maybe wanna teach me the rest?” His voice rose at the end, hoping even though he knew better than to do so. “I know I’m not a good clerk and you’ve maybe never seen me do good at anything, probably, but I try real hard. And I like you lots better than the army, so maybe that would help.” 

Then he looked crestfallen, forlorn. “Or maybe the Captains are right and I should just ask Captain Pierce. He can kinda do your accent a little and he said he’d let me pretend.” He actually  _ placed _ a hand over his mouth this time, as it had, apparently, in the last three minutes or so, developed a death wish. He’d heard of not wanting to live without someone before, but this felt pretty extreme. 

Klinger’s thoughts weren’t the only ones to concern themselves with homicide in that moment. “Pierce!? That… that  _ Lothario _ !? I forbid it. He only offered such a… a …”  _ an abomination _ “favor because he wishes to use you for his own selfish satisfaction. That is not love-making, Maxwell. That is a transaction. A perversion.”

Klinger latched onto one word. That one chapter had had a lot to say about “atypical” practices and perversions… and some of them hadn’t sounded half bad. “Because we’re both guys?”

“Because Pierce is a predator!” The incensed Major wasn’t screaming, but he felt like he wanted to. He took a steadying breath and wished he knew how to pray. “My dear girl, a lady of your unmatched quality should only be introduced to such intimate matters by a gentleman.”  _ Preferably one who will care for her every need and treasure every sound and sigh that falls from her lips.  _ Pierce would only be after his  _ own  _ pleasure. That course must be permanently walled off. “A gentleman, ah, such as myself.” 

“You mean it, Major?” He had already launched himself into the man’s arms in a tangle of enthusiasm and swishing fabric. Charles allowed the welcome weight of him to carry them both down onto the bed. He wasn’t sure Max even realized what he’d done, but he wasn’t letting go. 

Charles smiled into those dark, eager eyes. “Of course I do, Max. Although I am afraid there is a condition on which I must insist, you,”

“Hafta stop wearing skirts,” Klinger finished for him, light evaporating from his eyes. 

"No, my beautiful, silly, sweet girl! I meant only to absolutely insist that you start calling me by my name! I need to know if it sounds as good spilling forth from your delicious lips as I've imagined."

A beautiful smile lit the Corporal’s face. He had said Charles’ name before - but his rank and many privileges made it a rare thing. “Charles.” He tried it, tasted it, tried again. “Charles?” This time, the syllables sank in like a key to a lock. Charles trembled. Max really liked the look of that. 

He reached up to stroke the other man’s cheek. Charles leaned in to kiss his wrist. “Oh, pet, you are precious. You are quite sure this is your wish? That  _ I _ am your wish?” 

Klinger nodded, eyes soft and, Charles could hardly believe it - a little awed. “Please?” 

_ My God.  _ For that please he might set aside everything he possessed, everything he was.  _ Oh, Maxwell…  _

Charles had known he’d desired the other man, but this… 

Klinger grew very still and very brave. “You don’t have to, sir. I get it if you, y’know, changed your mind.” 

Charles hadn’t changed a thing; he’d just chosen an inconvenient moment to get lost in thought. But Max’s words told him something.  _ This has happened before. Probably with that girl you married when she realized what you were wearing under your clothes. You smoothed it over, but the moment was lost. And when she agreed to be yours from a distance, she assumed you would become a “true” man - right down to the intimates - and you promised because you thought there was no other way to exist _ . 

That probably hadn’t been the only time, either. Maybe there had come a night over here, so far from home, when Max was lonely and had set aside his principles, wanting comfort. The other party - man or woman, Charles hated them either way - had been so excited because this wasn’t just sex - this was a  _ story  _ \- sex with a section eight seeker who was sure to be wild in bed. But it had turned out that Max wasn’t kidding. The costumes were more than a joke and something he’d said or done had given him away and left him all alone again, arms wrapped around himself to keep from shaking. 

_ My poor dear. My poor girl.  _

Charles placed a hand at his waist, pulled him over his lap so that he could look up into his eyes. “It seems in all this talk of the intimate, I have neglected to explain something important. Max, I am very, very much in love with you.” 

The Major knew it wouldn’t be enough until Max heard the rest. People had said “I love you” to this charming creature before. Charles traced the edges of the skirt, admiring the stitching through touch. The curves of the design were erratic; it reminded the surgeon of the troughs and crests of waves meeting stone and he swallowed hard when he thought of Max’s hips moving beneath it, moving for him.

“And when I say ‘you,’ my pretty dear, I do mean  _ all _ of you. You in fatigues and you in lace, you in stunning combinations and blends of male and female garb.” He continued to outline those wild stitches, wondering what Max had done, precisely, to get them to appear rough but feel soft. He went on, trying to make his voice as gentle as Max’s hands could be when they guided thread (Charles had seen him happily caught up), one hand stroking down his back. If he was right in his conjectures, no one had ever said anything like what he was about to say to Klinger; he wanted to make sure it came out right. This meant, for now, stripping the poetry from his speech. Max deserved poetry, of course, deserved the finest words he knew, but he deserved acceptance more. “Maxwell Q. Klinger, I hope that, in time, you will come to trust me enough to be whatever and whoever you wish with me - even in my arms.” He said it as plainly as he knew how, needing Max to understand him. “My man, Max. My girl. Both. Neither. My only wish is that you are happy - and absolutely mine.” 

“Charles?” His mouth stayed open, stunned, and tears slipped from his wide eyes, unnoticed. His brows were lifted, disbelieving, and he trembled so prettily that Charles knew in that moment that seeing him tremble in other ways was going to  _ destroy  _ him. 

Charles kissed his parted lips, knowing Max wouldn’t kiss back; the Corporal was barely remembering to breathe. “Tell me that you will permit me the chance to make you happy, Maxwell, and quickly, if you please. Thus far, I have frightened you, made you doubt me, and made you cry. I have much to make amends for - and none of that takes into account my behavior toward you on being assigned here.” 

Max caught the gentle note of teasing that gilded his words; Charles still sounded like his friend. He wasn’t losing what he already had with the Major it seemed… and somehow, impossibly, he wasn’t going to have to lose part of himself, either. At least, not with Charles. Stunned and wondering, he hid himself against a broad shoulder and wept violently for all the times he’d struggled to figure out who he was, for the times he’d renounced some part of himself only to be miserable without it and take it back; he even cried about that stupid book. “You d-don’t think I’m some kind of deviant, sir?” 

Charles knew where the word had come from and he cursed the entire AMA (to say nothing of the APA) for its unfeeling stance toward difference. “Do you think of me as such, pet?”

“No! You’re perfect!” 

It was very good to hear. “Maxwell, some very well paid doctors were employed by my family to convince me of my deviance, once. I did not believe them. In spite of their grave pronouncements, I rose to the top of my profession. Why should you and I not know similar heights in our romance?” 

Grave, wet, dark eyes regarded him. “They shouldn’t have done that to you, Major baby.”

“I agree. And you should never have been less than admired in your creations. With me, you never shall be again.” So saying, he swept Max down to lay beside him in his arms. 

Max held to him, kissing the throat that had helped give voice to those beautiful, impossible words, murmuring, “Charles, Charles baby…” 

The Major clasped his hands. “And you were worried about a lack of expertise?” 

“I’m not doing anything, Major.”

Charles swallowed back a chuckle. It seemed his army rank (a ridiculous sop to the doctors it had abducted) was going to follow him into bed… and, he more than suspected, into civilian life, too. He never would have admitted it, but Charles would have allowed Max to call him far more ridiculous things with pleasure. “You are demonstrating your love and care for me, Max. And nothing you are doing is, I think, lifted from a textbook.” 

It wasn’t, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous. “I still don’t know how to kiss you, though.”

Charles smiled. “Ah. Well, that, I believe, is, easily amended, dear heart. I have thought about it quite a lot and I do believe that I know how to kiss you.” 

Max’s first thought - when the circuits of his brain permitted thoughts rather than mere sensation - was that if this was how the Major took charge of a situation, somebody really ought to put him in charge of the whole damn show they called a police action. One of those huge hands was on the back of his neck, fingers in his hair. The other remained free to make adjustments, pulling Maxwell in closer, angling his head. Once his lips were bright with kissing, he stroked down his face (thumb on one side, two fingers on the other) and said, “Open your mouth, darling.”

The Corporal did, mostly from shock. 

It turned out that his shock could get a lot deeper.

Charles was doing something with his tongue that had no place in the glossary of  _ Human Sexuality _ ; Klinger wished, absurdly, that he see how deeply in his throat that tongue was, wished he could see how it knew to map his mouth so expertly. He was warm, so warm, and he slipped deeper into the covers, willingly borne down beneath Charles, willingly offering up his mouth. 

When the Major drew back, Max sighed. 

“Will you do that every time?”

“If you wish me to.”

“It feels special.”

_ Not nearly so special as you, you with your eyes looking that way.  _ “It is to be hoped, beloved, that I shall always cause you to feel at least half so special as you are.”

“Show me again.”

Charles did and Max thought he figured it out this time - how to kiss and breathe while being gently mouth-fucked by an attentive tongue. When he drew back panting, he even got brave enough to trail his fingers over the Major’s broad chest. The man was wearing  _ way _ too many layers, but Klinger wasn’t that brave - not yet. 

“One more time,” he bargained. “Slower.”

Charles obliged. This time, Max’s tongue ended up where he wanted it, in his mouth, repeating back what he had learned.  _ This...this is going to be fun _ . When he realized that “this” actually encompassed the rest of his life, Charles almost whimpered. 

Kissing just behind the Corporal’s ear, he said, “We have reached the point at which we should talk a moment. I know you have concerns, love.” Knowing Max would find it difficult to tell him what to do because of the disparities between them, Charles gave him two signals he might employ instead - one to ask him to stop and one to ask for something to be continued or expanded. He hoped this might alleviate some of the nervousness that was clearly with him. The other part of his plan was to massage the tension from his muscles and praise him until Max believed every word of what he was hearing. 

Apparently no one had ever given the pretty Corporal a massage. He tensed at those first touches - Charles finding the muscles most likely to carry stress and strain - and then he buckled with a moan. Charles felt sweat prickle between his shoulder blades just from watching him. It made him grin; Max was relaxing under his touch and  _ he _ was becoming more and more keyed up. 

His mouth followed his hands; he kissed into the nape of Klinger’s neck and down his spine. The small of his back proved particularly enticing; Charles sucked and kissed there until he’d left a mark. If Klinger had not been busy being impressed that such a well-bred mouth could do  _ that _ , he would have recognized that Charles was engaged in an act similar to the one Max undertook when adding a seamstress’s mark to his fancier creations. This was about ownership and pride. 

“I’d like ta get a chance to touch you, too, Major. To see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

Charles helped him turn and took him into his arms as he did. “I was unaware that any part of me, including my eyes, contained magic enough to catch  _ your _ eyes or turn your head.” He had always bragged about being a Winchester; tonight, he was actually glad of his genetics if they made him something Maxwell Q. Klinger could desire. 

“I don’t wanna get up, Major, but if you look over there,” he gestured past his shoulder. “That color wheel - see it?” 

Charles nodded. 

“I started it the week you got here, tryin’ to figure out those kaleidoscope eyes of yours. They keep changing on me and I never get it right, but I try hard and I’ll keep trying.”

“How delightful, darling. And when you do ‘get it right,’ what then?” 

“Then I save up the money to dye some cloth and make a skirt out of it so I can see it right next to my skin. Maybe panties, too, but, well…”

“Yes, pet?” Winchester liked the blush that was developing over his cheek bones. 

“They’d, umm, they’d get damp all the time, I think. I get pretty worked up, thinking about your eyes.”  _ Pretty close.  _

“Mmm. Then perhaps the very best thing I can do for you, my sweet one, is look into your eyes as I do this.” 

He moved his current underthings aside, making the younger man’s abdomen clench, and kissed up the inside of his thigh. Their eyes stayed locked as he ran his tongue over that sensitive space. Then he opened his mouth. 

A long, low sigh rose from the Corporal’s chest - maybe, Charles reflected as he learned the contours of him, from his  _ bones.  _

Knowing Max needed him to be tender as much as he needed him to be passionate, Charles threaded their fingers together and held tight, anchoring a partner whose thighs were flexed and taut and whose hips were rocking, begging for increased depth. Someday soon, he intended to feel those hips move with Max over top of him, skirts flared around them both. 

“Oh- oh, mmm… Major…” 

Charles chuckled around him, joyous over his feel and his taste and his incredible responsiveness. He drew back to place warm, wet kisses on his stomach, fingers slipping through curls that were damp from the fun he’d been having with his mouth. “Am I pleasing you, Max?”

Dark eyes clenched shut. “You say my name real nice - like music.” 

“You are a song of which I desire to learn every note and rest, every,” he kissed the ridge of one hip, gently bit down just to see Max flail, “every cadence, Max.”

The sound of his name seemed to lick down an abdomen gone tight with desire; white heat flashed through him like welcome, summer lightning. He squeezed the Major’s hand and saw Charles smile just for him, saw him nod, proud of him for the ask. “Yes, dear,” he promised. 

Max took his face in his free hand before he could lower it again. “What about you, Major baby? You’re not even undressed.” 

“Anticipation is its own sort of pleasure.” 

“ _ Seeing you naked  _ would be one, too.” 

Charles might not have believed him; he knew he was not stereo-typically handsome; he did not possess Hunnicutt’s clean cut, home-grown sand-and-surf charm or Hawkeye’s movie star looks and maniacal charisma. But Max was panting for him and his eyes nearly exerted pressure on his buttons. 

“Come on, Major. Please?” His face brightened as a clever notion formed. “I guess ‘pretty please,’ would be better, ‘cause I  _ know _ you’re pretty under all those clothes.” 

Charles began to undress and Max was so eager that he sat up and started to help, distracting him with kisses. Charles found himself laughing again. “You make me  _ very  _ happy, you feverish little thing. I, ah, I now believe I know what it feels like to be a grape upon being peeled!” 

“Mmm, but you taste better.” He reclaimed his tongue, got drunk on his taste while he dragged him down so that they were touching at as many points as possible - all of which were pleasing. 

“I am supposed to be tasting  _ you _ .”  _ Ending you _ . 

He moved down the slighter man’s body with a grace that should have been impossible given their narrow confines, and Max sat up to watch him recede like a warm tide… then enfold him again. 

The crests began deep inside of him; the tremors started deep and stretched out to his nailbeds. The muscles in his throat molded around a desperate, whining sound. 

“My name,” Charles lifted his head, putting his hand to work so that the momentum wasn’t broken. “Say my name, Maxwell.” 

“I wanna be good for you, Charles.” 

Blue eyes burned into his, the flame of them dialed up, the pupils wide as the sky. The Major won the sound of his name once more; that cry and the exquisite expression on his lover’s face nearly made him lose the hectic rhythm he was using to drive Max over the edge. 

When he fell, Charles caught him. When he calmed, Charles taught him how to touch him. By the time they’d spent two weeks together, Klinger was very happy to trade in reading for private lessons (even though Charles’ notes gave him a little thrill). And if Charles sometimes jokingly quizzed him on what he had learned - well, where was the harm in that? 

End! 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of input from friends for this one - thank you all!


End file.
